


The More Things Change

by Lokifan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom!Harry, Loss of Virginity, M/M, top!draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-06
Updated: 2012-10-06
Packaged: 2017-11-15 17:55:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokifan/pseuds/Lokifan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hogwarts graduation night, and Draco escapes to the top of the Astronomy Tower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The More Things Change

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a birthday fic for tweeney in 2008; she requested 'Graduation from Hogwarts night, flangst and smut (oh, top!Draco plz) all rolled into one.'

“It has been said that ‘change will do you good’,” McGonagall began, standing under the chandelier in the Great Hall with the candlelight setting her dark hair to gleaming, and hiding the grey strands that showed the strain of the last year. “It has been hard to believe that in recent years; change has often seemed to bring pain and loss. But that pain burnt away the dross, and left each of you stronger, purer; a better metal with which to forge heroes. 

“Since the year began, the world has changed, and you have changed with it. You were students, almost children still though you were of age; you became heroes. You fought not for yourselves, but your families, your school, the world. I have never been so proud of any year since I joined Hogwarts.” She paused, and said thickly, “Dumbledore would be proud.”

At that, the assembled seventh year students burst into applause and bittersweet cheers. Though they were few, with only three Slytherins returning, their noise filled the Hall past the rafters, to the clouded night sky. McGonagall smiled at them all, the graduating students and their dates, those remaining after the younger pupils had taken the Hogwarts Express home that afternoon. She looked every inch a Headmistress.

She drew her wand, and waved it; the beginnings of a waltz swelled around them. “And now, we will dance, to celebrate your graduation from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!”

Still cheering, everyone got up and levitated their chairs, sending them flying back against the wall to leave a cleared dance floor. Ron extended a hand to Hermione; she took it with a smile. “Would m’lady care to dance?” Ron inquired, handsome in his dark blue robes.

She laughed, and he drew her in towards him, a big hand going instantly to the small of her back to cradle her against him. Harry watched with a smile. _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways To Charm Witches_ hadn’t worked out, but Ron seemed to have learnt some moves all by himself. Harry saw other couples joining the pair on the dancefloor, and his throat went tight for a moment. His relationship with Ginny was now irrevocably over, and he wasn’t ready to go searching for a boyfriend amongst all the avid strangers who stared at him every day. Hell, he hadn’t even managed to tell anyone but Hermione and the Weasleys that he _was_ gay. Still, it would have been nice to have someone to dance with.

After one dance, Ron and Hermione came back. Harry flushed, knowing it was to keep him company; he probably looked rather woebegone off to the side by himself, while even Neville was dancing with a violently attractive Ginny Weasley. Of course, being Neville he’d given Harry several humble, apologetic looks despite Harry telling him it was fine. Ginny had pointedly ignored Harry, face white and set and very well made-up; Harry supposed that was fair.

Then, Harry saw a white-blond head above black robes, heading away from the dancefloor. He’d never managed to lose that _what’s Malfoy up to?_ sixth sense, the instinct to watch him whenever he was at Hogwarts. Seeing Malfoy head to the doors, glance round shiftily, then slip out instantly set his instincts jangling. He stood up.

“Where’re you off to?” Hermione asked.

Harry nodded his head towards the doors. “I’m just going to check where Malfoy’s off to.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged a speaking look, but smiled. As Harry headed after Malfoy, he distinctly heard Hermione sigh, “some things never change...”

~*~

When Harry got out into the Entrance Hall, he found Malfoy had already gone. He wasn’t going to lose him now. The habits of a year at war – and a year spent following Malfoy before that – were still ingrained; Harry reached into his pocket and removed the Marauder’s Map.

The school was emptier than he’d ever seen it. Few students remained, and those that did were all in the Great Hall with the teachers. Well, all but Harry and Malfoy... there! Harry found the little black Draco Malfoy dot. He blinked.

Malfoy was nearly at the Astronomy Tower.

Why on earth would he want to go there? Harry himself would happily never go near the place again, and it couldn’t exactly be chock-full of happy memories for Malfoy. Harry saw again that whitened face, and the wand that had been shaking in Malfoy’s hand. _“I haven’t got any options! He’ll kill my whole family!”_

Harry shuddered, and made for the Tower. If his school years had taught him anything, it was that a Malfoy who was doing something unexplained was a Malfoy who was doing something nefarious – even if in their younger days the something nefarious had tended to be ‘plotting to throw dove hearts at Harry in Potions’. Harry nodded to himself. His suspicions were entirely legitimate, considering everything the youngest Malfoy had done, and the only reason he could have for following him. Harry carefully ignored the small voice that was whispering of how pale and unhappy Malfoy still looked, how high the Tower was and how afraid Malfoy must be of this new world.

The Draco Malfoy dot was now at the top of the Astronomy Tower, and quite still. _Maybe he’s just stargazing,_ Harry thought briefly, then snorted at himself. The sky was black with cloud tonight. He pushed open the heavy door to the Tower, and began climbing the stairs.

Harry paused when he reached the top, then slowly pushed at the door, opening it as quietly as he could. Malfoy was standing with his back to him, at the battlements opposite. His hair, bright in the eternal candles burning in a few of the battlements, above the black robes that melded with the darkness, made him look ethereal: unreal. He was entirely still, but for long, pale fingers hesitantly touching the stone in front of him.

Harry realised he was standing just where Dumbledore had been, right before Snape sent him over, and felt sick. He opened the door a little wider, trying to stay quiet, but this time the tiny noise alerted Malfoy. His whole body flinched and he spun, drawing his wand, pale face twisted, body braced for battle.

Harry fought down seven years’ worth of instinct, and didn’t draw his wand. “Malfoy.”

Malfoy snarled, but his eyes were a little too bright. “What the hell do you want? I’m not doing anything – you don’t need to follow me like you did all sixth year! I’m sick of you being there, every time I turn around!”

“I – ”

_“Piss off, Potter!”_

Harry did exactly the opposite. He stepped out properly onto the top of the Tower, shutting the door as he went. Malfoy jerked his wand a little higher at the movement, obviously feeling threatened; Harry stood still, not moving. Their eyes met, and Harry saw realisation dawn in grey eyes at the exact moment he realised himself –

They were standing in the places Malfoy and Dumbledore had been the night Dumbledore died, and Malfoy ran. Malfoy’s back was pressed into the battlements, as Dumbledore had been leaning heavily against them. Harry was standing where Malfoy had, trying to psyche himself up to kill. 

But Harry wasn’t going to kill. This didn’t have to be a replay of the tragedy that had happened here; it didn’t need to play out the same way. Besides, he could never have harmed Malfoy when he looked like that – the narrow expression, like a hunted predator, looked exactly how he’d felt facing the Dursleys.

So he didn’t draw his wand. The last time they’d really fought he’d almost killed Malfoy, and he’d changed since then. Malfoy wasn’t going to die. He had his wand, and no one was coming to back Harry up, or to kill on Harry’s behalf.

They stared at each other, without a flicker of movement on either side. Harry could hear Malfoy’s breathing. 

Harry was angry, sick of being yelled at by the snivelling little Slytherin; Malfoy was angry, tired of being followed. But that moment of mutual realisation, and this eye contact, changed things between them. They had both seen their lives changed in this place, had seen possibilities die along with their headmaster. Something momentous had happened here – not least, the moment when Malfoy had dropped his wand – and they were the only people left alive and free to talk about it.

Harry’s whole body felt charged. Malfoy’s pale eyes filled his vision. Harry couldn’t have broken their locked stare if his life depended on it. This sizzling moment of connection was like nothing he’d ever felt.

Malfoy blinked.

That brought Harry out of it and he managed to step forward. At the small movement Malfoy flinched again, pressing back against the ramparts with nowhere to go. His trapped expression brought back memories, like afterimages played on your eyelids after looking at a bright light – his face as he’d stared at Voldemort, in Harry’s dreams.

“Are you OK?”

Malfoy gave a laugh that sounded like barbed wire, as if it must have left his throat bloody. “Why do you care?”

Harry shrugged, knowing he couldn’t explain everything he’d seen through his connection with Voldemort. The only time he’d ever known Malfoy to attempt an Unforgivable of his own free will had been when Harry had caught him crying. He couldn’t bring himself to tell this proud boy that his terror and weakness had been seen.

“Things change.”

“No they don’t,” Malfoy snapped. He began to pace now, but he didn’t look any calmer than he had almost crouched against the battlements; every movement was tense and sharp, like the moment he stopped he’d shatter. “Everything’s just like it was.” His voice went odd – a little choked, but no less hard – like sheet metal turned to corrugated iron. For all his pacing, he didn’t go near Harry; he barely seemed aware Harry was alive.

“I can still remember every second of what happened here. God, I have never felt so fucking helpless in my entire life – and that includes all last year with the _fucking_ Dark Lord taking over my house. I had the wand, he didn’t, it should have been my shining moment of glory and power – and I was helpless. I couldn’t make myself do a fucking thing. It was my _family_ on the line and I couldn’t – couldn’t make a choice, not even a bad one. I was weak, and pathetic, and I couldn’t do anything. And I stayed that way, all last year, and everything was my fault. Death Eaters in Hogwarts and I’d brought them there and I still didn’t do a thing to stop them. The others were brave, fighting back – or they were happy, and helping the Dark Lord – and I wasn’t either. I didn’t pick a side. And even now, when it’s all over,” Malfoy slumped against the battlements, as if he’d spat out all the harsh things holding him upright and lost his strength, “I still feel helpless.”

There was dead silence for a moment. Malfoy was staring at the shadowed stone at his feet, and he looked as though he’d forgotten Harry was there.

Harry finally found his voice, from a tight throat. “I understand.”

Malfoy flung his head up, bright hair swinging back from a pale face twisted in scorn. “Harry Potter, our great Chosen One, knows what it means to be helpless?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “My childhood taught me all about being helpless. And during the war... everyone was hurting, people were dying and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I was helpless, but I was responsible for everything that was happening.” He looked up at the dark sky so he wouldn’t have to see Malfoy’s face. “And I feel like that even more lately... I’m supposed to be responsible for everything, be the great hero, and I don’t know what people expect me to do. And,” he swallowed, “I broke Ginny Weasley’s heart, I think. I can’t do anything to help her, and I couldn’t help hurting her.”

He looked down again to meet Malfoy’s pale eyes, and saw him roll them.

“Why’d you break up with her, then? Why couldn’t you help it?” His tone made it clear how little he expected.

Harry looked at him. He’d barely spoken it aloud; he’d said it once to Hermione, and to Ginny, and the rest of the Weasleys had found out from there. Certainly the world at large didn’t know. Harry had no idea what the wizarding world’s reaction would be to something like this, and suddenly he wanted to test it out, by telling his enemy; it was a mixture of wanting to get it over with quickly, like ripping off a plaster, and the simple self-destructive urge to jump from a high place. That moment of connection was mixed in there too, but Harry wasn’t in the habit of examining his motives: he was much more of a doer.

His voice wavered over the last word but he got it out. “I couldn’t be with her when I know I’m gay.”

Harry braced himself for the outcome of this – of leaving himself vulnerable to Draco Malfoy. Malfoy stared at him in shock, then his face froze over. “Very fucking funny, Potter,” he spat, and then he headed for the door.

“Malfoy!” Harry grabbed his arm before he could reach it, and felt a shock go through him at the contact. His hand was on Malfoy’s upper arm; he could feel its thinness, and its strength, and its warmth. Malfoy looked down at the pale hand splayed on his dark robes, then back up into Harry’s face. Their faces were very close. Malfoy’s eyes were a little wild, and very black; his eyes were dilated.

Harry stared at him, then managed to get a lid on everything he was feeling and say almost-evenly, “what’s funny?”

“N-nothing.” Harry had never heard Malfoy stutter before; he was really losing his composure.

“You said it was funny that I’m – gay.” Funny how the word didn’t get any easier to say. “What did you mean?”

Malfoy shut his eyes tightly, fanning nearly-invisible eyelashes over his cheeks, and turned his face away, but he didn’t move his arm from Harry’s grip. “I thought you were fucking with me. I thought you knew about me.”

“About you?” Harry repeated, his brain gone slow and syrupy as molasses with shock. “You – you’re gay?”

“Yes,” Malfoy got out through clenched teeth. He turned to look at Harry again, their faces centimetres from each other’s, so close as to be almost sharing warmth, and their eyes locked. Harry felt another moment of that crackling connection, then Malfoy tore away, leaving him cold and bereft.

“So how does it feel, Potter?” Malfoy said. “For once, you’re not party to my secrets – I know yours instead. Everyone who matters to me knows I fuck boys, but you – ” He stopped and looked oddly at Harry. Harry was staring at him and shaking a little, as though caught in a high wind. A little pin-scratch frown appeared between his brows, and he stepped closer. “Potter, are you – all right?”

“No,” Harry said breathlessly, then gave a shivering little laugh. “I don’t know. I thought I was the only one – I felt like I was the only one. Then I find someone else, and it’s _you_ – ” He laughed again, even though he felt too hysterical to find anything funny.

“Not just Seeking we have in common, then,” Malfoy said sardonically. When Harry’s expression didn’t change, the frown reappeared. “Potter, you’re not the only one,” he said, voice lower than usual, the bristling edges kept down for a moment. “Don’t worry. I promise there are plenty of others.” He gave a small huff of laughter, and said, “I know. I’ve found a few of them.”

“So, you’ve...?”

“Yep. Not much – blinding terror sort of takes the edge off your libido. But I’ve done it a few times.”

“Oh.” Harry nodded, still staring up at Malfoy with a slightly open mouth and wide eyes, unable to think, it was too ridiculous that he was contemplating asking for sex advice from _Draco Malfoy_ , of all people – then the most surprising thing of a surprising night occurred.

If he’d thought about it, he would’ve expected Malfoy to kiss like he fought, or like he flew – swift and brutal, placing a lot of emphasis on the benefit of surprise, and with a certain learned skill and some talent, but nothing like the innate ability Harry had. But then Harry’s fumbling attempts hadn’t been much like the way he flew, either.

No – Malfoy moved a little closer, and a little closer still, until their bodies were touching lightly all over, thighs lightly nudging each other’s and chests pressing as they breathed. They were sharing warmth, and at this distance the inch or two Malfoy had on him really mattered, and Harry couldn’t stop staring. He was close enough to see Malfoy’s eyes now: the blown, wide black pupils, and every detail of the blue-flecked grey irises. 

Then Malfoy leaned in a little more, and put his mouth to Harry’s. 

A moment of uncertainty and then Harry was kissing back: he couldn’t imagine doing anything else. He felt a warm shock go through him at this kiss that was so entirely different from anything he’d felt with Ginny, and then a much stronger shock as Malfoy’s tongue flicked over his lips. He opened his mouth for Malfoy and the kiss was suddenly everything.

The night air was cold over his skin and Malfoy’s body was warm but his mouth was burning fire and Harry’s eyes were closed but who needed sight when you had this – Malfoy’s eyelashes against his cheek and Malfoy’s tongue in his mouth and Malfoy’s lips sliding slickly against his. Harry pressed closer, then Malfoy pulled away for a moment and Harry realised his hands were round Malfoy’s waist and clutching him closer and Malfoy’s fingers were tangled in his hair; then Malfoy tilted his head and started kissing his neck, and Harry lost his ability to think. He wondered if he might lose his ability to breathe.

Malfoy kept touching, and mouthing, and his utter focus would have made Harry feel flattered if he could concentrate on anything but doing it back. Then he felt Malfoy’s hand move towards his crotch, and some obscure sense of panic sent him stumbling back.

“I can’t – I mean, I haven’t – ” Harry said, and some part of him was screaming about his manly pride and how he couldn’t let Malfoy know he was a virgin. The bigger part of him, though – the part of him that was hard, and anxious, but not truly afraid even though he was so vulnerable now – shouted the ‘manly pride’ part down.

Malfoy smiled crookedly, and pressed a warm hand against his hip. “All right. Hell, I couldn’t force you if I wanted to. But I have enough practice not to hurt you if you let me – and _God_ do I want to fuck you.”

Harry flinched a little at the word ‘fuck’ – he’d never imagined his first time quite like this, but it had certainly never been meaningless, or possible fodder for mockery. Malfoy must have felt it, because the next second his warm mouth was on Harry’s skin again, clever tongue flicking against his neck and sucking and entirely removing his upper brain function.

Harry pulled back again, and stared at Malfoy. “I’m not – I don’t know you, not really. And I can’t trust you.”

Malfoy smiled again, though Harry saw a sort of internal flinch in his eyes. “You shouldn’t trust me, is what you mean. But you already are. You can relax, because I know what I’m doing and I’m responsible. You don’t have to be. And of course you know me. Beloved enemies, Harry.”

Harry was never sure if it was the word ‘beloved’, or the crooked smile, or the seductive idea of letting go while Malfoy took care of things, or simply the way his mouth watered at the outline of Malfoy’s cock through his robes. But the next moment he was pushing his body against Malfoy’s and his tongue into Malfoy’s mouth, and groaning as long fingers started undoing the buttons of his robes. Malfoy’s hands brushed against his bare chest and Harry moaned.

Harry’s hesitancy was drowning under a wave of lust; the light in Malfoy’s grey eyes was too brilliant to be ignored. They moved together, bodies close, sharing warmth in the freezing open air. Malfoy’s chest was covered with goosebumps when it was revealed; Harry smoothed his hands down it, thumbing Malfoy’s peaked nipples and loving the slack look on Malfoy’s face as he moaned.

They stripped each other, moving in tandem. It almost reminded Harry of the way they flew, intent and fierce and focussed – but he’d never fumbled clumsily when flying, or tripped as he got rid of his socks. He’d definitely never felt a hot hand close on the head of his cock and bitten his lower lip until it bled, trying not to come and ruin everything.

Then they were naked, and it was a bit chilly even in July but Malfoy waved his wand and gave them warmth, at least for a little while; and Harry grinned and said, “we’ll just have to rub together to keep warm.” Malfoy laughed breathlessly, standing there stark naked, his cock red and hard, and Harry couldn’t believe he was getting to see this. He reached out and took Malfoy’s cock in his hand, always willing to be brave, and Malfoy grunted. The shadow of unease that hinted Malfoy wasn’t quite as sanguine about this lovely insanity as he pretended vanished when Harry touched him, and Harry’s chest went warm with the sense of power.

Malfoy spread his black robe on the floor with an elegant gesture, like a herald throwing out a red carpet. The incongruity of the move, next to Malfoy’s nakedness and hard cock, made Harry want to giggle; but next Malfoy said “get on your hands and knees, it’ll be easier,” in a sex-hoarse voice and suddenly Harry didn’t want to giggle at all.

He did as Malfoy said, trying to let himself go. He got on his hands and knees, and felt briefly, intensely vulnerable; but then he glanced to his right and saw Malfoy staring at him, eyes black and intent and quietly awed. He let Malfoy kiss him, and relaxed into the kiss. This person, this Malfoy who was new or changed or perhaps simply revealed – he wouldn’t hurt him.

Malfoy pointed his wand at the palm of his hand and spoke a quiet spell; a slick substance appeared. At Harry’s baffled expression he grinned, and pressed a warm hand to Harry’s flank. “It’s a good thing I’m doing this. It’s to get you ready, Harry. You trust me to do all this?”

“Get on with it.”

Malfoy looked briefly outraged, then the glowing look returned to his face and he said, “I knew you had something.” Harry felt a hand on his arse, and then a warm finger was stroking gently over his hole and his body was quivering at this new sensation even before it dipped inside. “The something is mainly a fantastic arse, but believe me that’s more than enough.”

The finger inside Harry pumped slowly. It felt strange, unfamiliar – almost wrong, but he couldn’t ignore the way it was stoking the fire of his feelings. He moved back carefully against it and felt a sudden wave of pleasure. He could feel himself opening, could feel his hole clinging to Malfoy’s finger. Malfoy, for his part, was now pink in the face and panting.

“God, do you have any idea how that looks?”

Harry wasn’t listening; a second finger had been pushed in by the first, and his shoulders tightened at the pain. His jaw clenched; he didn’t want to show he was in pain.

“Hey, relax,” Malfoy said quietly. “It hurts, yeah, but it won’t hurt much, and it’s worth it.”

Harry was surprised at the way he relaxed after hearing that – as if it were permission for him to hurt. Malfoy kept going, opening him patiently and letting him learn how to enjoy this new feeling. Then his fingers stroked over something else and Harry jerked, gasping harshly.

“What – ”

“That was it!” Malfoy said, “I could tell!” He kept going, kept prodding and stroking at that place inside, touching unmercifully until Harry was quivering, covered in sweat and panting helplessly, eyes shut. He could feel himself flushing right down to his chest; Malfoy’s long fingers twisted inside him and his own clenched on the robe under him.

“Fuck, Malfoy, stop that or I’ll come – no, stop it!”

Malfoy was panting himself as he withdrew the fingers, staring at Harry’s arse as he did. “God, it’s all – shiny and pink and open and I – ”

“Stop talking, Malfoy, and fuck me!” Harry was too far gone to be embarrassed now. Malfoy gulped at his words, and lined himself up as fast as he could. Then he thrust into Harry with a grunt.

_“Fuck.”_

Malfoy’s cock felt huge inside him, stretching and hot, powerful inside him. Harry felt his body tighten involuntarily and Malfoy moaned.

Harry was panting; it hurt, it hurt and he hadn’t expected it, not like this, but then Malfoy was thrusting again and Harry was blind, his whole world was the burn and stretch, and Malfoy’s hands pinching his nipples and making him moan helplessly. His cock moved inside, and Harry made a sound of pain.

But Malfoy’s hand found his cock, and he began wanking Harry expertly; hand tugging strong and even, twisting over the head of his cock and moving in time with his thrusts. The pleasure grew, and Harry started to move with the thrusts, loving the way Malfoy’s arms quivered when he did it. Then Malfoy’s cock hit that spot inside him: Harry thrust back involuntarily, uncontrollably, and Malfoy groaned and shoved deeper inside.

Then they were moving together, bodies moving and shifting and thrusting and fucking, glorious friction bringing them closer to the edge; Harry’s ears were full of Malfoy’s long groans and his own sounds, and he couldn’t focus on everything he was feeling, there was too much – Malfoy’s hands were everywhere, stroking over his ribs and tweaking his nipples and he was biting and sucking at Harry’s neck, there’d be a mark and how would he explain it – he turned his head blindly and Malfoy caught his mouth and they were kissing again, tongues tangling, and then Harry’s body tightened and he threw his head back and _came._

He howled as he spurted, the feeling unbelievable as he tightened around Malfoy’s cock in climax. Malfoy kept fucking him, riding him right through his orgasm and out the other side; then he was limp, barely holding himself up as Malfoy fucked him, unrelenting. Harry tightened his muscles and heard Malfoy groan into his shoulder, hot breath making him shiver, before he came.

They laid close afterwards, hot and sticky; Malfoy’s hair was tickling Harry’s neck, and his head was full of the scent of it. Eventually he made a sort of complaining noise and Malfoy roused himself enough to move a bit, sprawling on his back on Harry’s right. Harry turned on his back too. Their bodies were still close enough that Harry could feel Malfoy’s warmth, and he smiled to himself. That was all right: he could see Malfoy was wearing a very silly grin himself.

He stared up at the sky, and then his small, silly smile became a wide grin. While they’d been having sex, the clouds had cleared; a wide, indigo sky was clear above them and shining with stars.

Harry looked, and couldn’t see Mars. Perhaps it had gone dim; its sullen red light, that Harry could remember clearly from his Astronomy sessions, seemed to have vanished from the sky. All he could see was bright, clear stars, twinkling and shining as though nothing could stop them. The gauzy veil of the Milky Way was glimmering and gorgeous, like diamonds strewn carelessly over cloth; Harry had never really noticed that before. But then, now he’d graduated, he didn’t have to study them. There were other things to understand.

He turned his head to look at Malfoy, and found him already looking back. They stared at each other, and then Malfoy’s mouth curled upwards, shy and languid and happy, all at once. “You can see my constellation,” he said, pointing upwards. “July’s the best time of year to see Draco properly.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, and raked his eyes down Malfoy’s naked body. “I quite agree,” he drawled.

Malfoy hit out at him with a floppy arm, laughing. “Shove off, Potter.”

“Nope,” Harry said, yawning. “Not yet.”

He paused, looking at Malfoy who was still looking at the stars. He swallowed, told himself it was ridiculous to feel shy after such very good sex, and shifted over until he could put his head on Malfoy’s chest. Malfoy only hesitated a second before he was curling a hand over Harry’s shoulder, playing with the hair at Harry’s neck. Harry looked at the sky and thought he could fall asleep like this.

“So you know all the constellations really well then?” he said, voice blurring.

“I like Astronomy – I did it for my NEWTS.” Harry could feel Malfoy’s chest vibrating as he spoke. “I always liked looking at them when I was little. They have great stories, you know.”

“Yeah?” Harry said. “Which one’s your favourite?”

“Mine, of course,” he said with laughter in his voice. “But I like Orion, too – the hunter."

“Which one’s that?”

“It’s not there right now,” Malfoy said. “You can only see it in winter, in Scotland.”

“You’ll have to show me in December,” Harry yawned.

He felt Malfoy go still. “You want me to show you something in December? The December that’s half a year away?”

Harry’s eyes opened again. He hadn’t even thought about it. Malfoy was part of his life and always had been; he’d dreamed of him even after he’d left Hogwarts, for goodness’ sake. This new relationship they were stumbling towards wasn’t even new – just a changed type of intensity, and Harry knew it would be just as all-encompassing.

Something slotted into place.

“Yeah,” Harry replied, certainty in his voice. “I want you to show me Orion in December, after we’ve had sex.” He nuzzled in a little and said teasingly, “after all, nothing changes, right?”

“Things change,” Malfoy said, voice low and murmuring and full of unexplained things; it was soothing as a warm bath and quite different from the frozen-over sound of his voice earlier, so lovely when it wasn’t crackling with ice. “Even the stars change. If you give them a little time.”


End file.
